


Chili con Carne

by RivetingFabrications



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Civilian Jason, M/M, both of them are, jason is a good kid just doing his best, the au none of you needed but the one y'all deserve, tim is robin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-05-07 08:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14667543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RivetingFabrications/pseuds/RivetingFabrications
Summary: An au where Jason never became Robin and instead became the local chili dog stand owner.





	1. A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in the works for awhile, enjoy!

It happens because Jason is an idiot.

He’s proud of the tiny business he’s built from the bottom up. Sure, it’s not much, and he’s been standing in the miserable Gotham weather for hours on end when there’s no paying customers. To make ends meet he had to drop out of school, but the business is _his_ , dammit. He paid every single legal penny for the goddamn cart (plus a little extra so the coppers would turn a blind eye to his dubiously obtained permit.)

Times were hard as always, and Jason really needs a better jacket if he’s going to get through the incoming Gotham freeze without a working heater. That means waiting in the parks for hours on end for business, long after mothers tugged their children back into the safety of their apartments before Gotham’s underbelly filtered onto the streets.

Regardless, even if Jason is stupid, or rather desperate enough to stay out late in the hopes of selling more chili dogs, it is _way_ too early for shit like this (it’s not even seven in the evening yet, for crying out loud.) Jason is freaking out because, well, you know when they say you think it’s never going to happen to you until it does? It’s happening to him right now. The slow night had been interrupted by screams of terror as the park had suddenly been turned into a veritable jungle of suspiciously sentient flora, and Jason was in the center of it.

He snarls and backs away from the gargantuan vines creeping closer to him. A paying customer is dragged off, screaming and clawing furrows into the dirt as he’s overwhelmed by thorns and strangling vines. Jason has no desire to be the next victim. The presumable mastermind behind this is draped in moss and flowers as she sneers at him from her blossoming perch.

“Well, boy? Aren’t you going to run?” she asks. Jason glares defiantly, glancing at the flanking vines sneaking behind him from the corner of his eye. He’s trapped like a rat in a cage, with only the shop counter between him and death by shrubbery.

“I thought you might like a hot dog,” he says pleasantly as he can instead. His hand subtly creeps towards the knife in his pocket. He would have to have a deathwish to wander around Gotham unarmed after dark, but he's still an idiot for being out this late. “Do you like ketchup? You seem more like a mustard kind of gal, though.”

“Disgusting slop,” sneers the super villainess. “Why you humans willingly consume processed meat is beyond me – and you _sell_ it to them? Despicable.”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. I’ll even give you a discount.”

“I’ll pass on that.” Bored, the woman waves her hand. The vines shoot forward. Jason anticipates them and dodges. His pocket knife gleams wickedly in the blinking red-blue lights of an upturned police car for an instant. He slices one, a clean but shallow cut. The vine recoils back, putting distance between itself and Jason.

“How dare you,” snarls the woman, baring her teeth. Even despite her anger and the undeniable fact that she is _deadly_ , Jason can appreciate her red hair and (naturally?) green skin. “How _dare_ you hurt my precious babies!”

“If they’re so precious to you, don’t use them to attack people!” snaps Jason. Out of the corner of his eye, he spies a blur of movement whipping towards him. He turns to defend himself, but it’s too late. Jason shouts as the knife is knocked from his hand. Pain stings through his arm as thorns rake across his skin. Scrambling for the knife, Jason shouts as a second vine wraps around his ankle. He trips, and the vine jerks him skyward like he's a prized fish.

His feet swept out from under him, Jason kicks and yells as he’s suspended in midair upside down, struggling desperately in an attempt to free himself. Several yards away from him, there’s another policeman in the same predicament as him. The vine presents him upside down and flailing in front of the villainess. She stalks down the branch of blossoms until she’s face to face with her prey, smirking as she surveys the helpless policeman. Jason has never liked cops, but he can’t help but feel a bit of pity as – _oh_. She seals her lips over the man’s. The cop’s eyes go similarly wide with shock, his struggles ceasing. The kiss goes on several seconds until she pulls back, eyes glittering wickedly. Stepping back, the woman smiles with satisfaction as her vines set the policeman down. The cop staggers up, shoulders slumped and hunching forward. Jason is alarmed to see that his eyes are vacant and soulless.

The villainess sets her sights upon him, and Jason prepares himself for the same treatment when her hands trail down his cheek. It’s really not such a bad way to go, he reasons with himself, and hey, he’ll at least get to kiss –

“You would have been a pretty slave such as yourself, boy, but harming my plants is _unforgivable_. No, becoming my thrall would be too generous a fate for you. I’ll turn you into fertilizer instead to feed my children, and you shall make them stronger.”

“ _What_?” Jason resumes his struggles once more. Her hand waves in a wide sweep, and the ground trembles. The dirt below him opens into a gaping pit as he’s lowered into it face first. “Ok, that is _not_ fair –”

A slicing noise; something black whizzes past Jason’s ear, and the woman screams as the vine is sliced through cleanly. She’s shouting something, distracted, but the ground rushes up to meet Jason. Jason shouts, it’s going to be a bad landing, and he has no way of breaking his fall –

“Gotcha – _oof_!” He lands on someone hard, but while the impact is cushioned, the air is punched out from Jason’s lungs and it takes him a minute to breathe again.

“Hey, are you –” Jason stops short of finishing his sentence, because the _kid_ beneath him looks utterly winded. “Oh my god.”

“What?” the boy asks archly, frowning up at Jason, and Jason’s pretty certain that the kid is probably about two or three years younger than him. “You’re heavy.”

“What the fuck kid, you’re not a hero, you’re a kid, so get the hell out of that costume,” snaps Jason. He makes a bid to snatch the stupid looking mask off the kid’s face, but the boy ducks away and out of reach. “This is a real emergency!”

“It’s not a costume!” retaliates the boy, clearly offended. “It’s my _uniform_. I’m _Robin_.”

“Oh my god.” Jason doesn’t have time to waste arguing with a mouthy brat who’s tinier and scrawnier than him. “Kid, you are _so_ out of your depth –”

“ _Robin_.” Something big and black lands atop the overturned police car in a rush of wind, straightening up once more. The sight of the Batman punches the air out of Jason’s chest again – for a split second, he’s nine years old all over again, sprinting away with a tire iron from the scene of the crime. “Get the civilians out of here,” commands Batman. He’s about to say more but a vine thicker than a tree trunk smashes the rest of the car to smithereens, forcing the dark knight to leap off and engage the villainess in combat.

“See?” says the kid somewhat smugly towards Jason, getting up and dusting himself off. “Like I said, it’s a _uniform_.” Jason’s not listening, because his eyes widen in horror as he sees a vine curl about his precious chili dog cart.

“Not my cart, you bitch!” He hollers. Jason tries to sprint towards it but the goddamn kid tackles him before he even takes five paces. Robin barely weighs anything, but his momentum still knocks the breath out of Jason’s slightly bruised ribs.

“Are you crazy?” yells Robin, clinging to his back. “That’s dangerous!”

“And that’s my livelihood!” Jason watches helplessly as his cart is lifted into the air and flung towards Batman, who leaps away once again, throwing a bunch of bombs – controlled detonators –towards the cart. It shatters in a spray of debris, and Robin throws his cape about them, protecting him and Jason from the worst of the blast.

“Get out of here!” shouts Robin. “I need to help Batman!” Robin pushes him backwards a half step. Furiously, Jason starts towards them, but then reserve officers swarm him, pulling him back to the dubious safety of yellow tape already cordoning off the park.

“Sir, you need to get out of here – this is an emergency and we need to evacuate everyone; this is an order –”

“Fuck that, I need –” In the blare of more sirens showing up, Jason’s shouts are drowned as he’s dragged off the scene. It takes two policemen to drag him back, and he shouts as he's forced into a police car and taken away to a safer zone.

They initially try to treat him for shock when the paramedics arrive, shoving a blanket around his shoulders. They want to take him to a hospital as well, but Jason declines. He doesn’t have the money for last month’s rent, let alone an ambulance. The police want him to stay as a witness, but Jason's having none of that. He slips away into the night at the first opportunity he gets, when the incompetent coppers aren't looking. Catching a cab to his apartment, Jason collapses on his couch feeling bitter, cold, and even more penniless than when he started out this morning.

Goddammit.


	2. Broke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those of you who sent a little love my way for this fic, this is for all of you <3

The good part was that he’d managed to make the first installment on the cart. The second good part was that the cart was insured. The bad parts were everything else, and that the cart wasn't insured against sentient plants and controlled explosives.

Jason spends his morning fidgeting about, trying to update his resume in the Gotham library. Ends are even tighter, and he can’t get to the crime scene to assess the damage to the hot dog cart. He stares glumly at his account balance, displayed in sad lettering across the computer screen.

Forty dollars and thirty-seven cents. It could be worse. Running a hand through his hair, he glances at his reflection in the window. He tries to flatten his unruly curls again. His jeans have weathered a lot, but they still look decent.

“Hey, are you guys looking to hire anyone?” he asks, smiling at the elderly librarian who looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here. She takes one look at him and turns her nose up like she can smell the Narrows on him. Jason wouldn't put it past her to be able to.

“No _pe_ ,” she says, popping the p pointedly. _Exit stage left_. Despite her stinging gaze, Jason has taken harder knocks than that. He thanks her mechanically before leaving. He continues searching, dropping by the post office a few minutes before it closes, but by that point it’s the end of the work day. Eventually Jason stops, knowing he’ll have no more luck until tomorrow.

He doesn’t have many cigarettes left, but it looks like he’s skipping dinner tonight as he carefully avoids the land lady keeping a hawkish eye out for him as he makes his way to the rooftop to smoke. He shakes out a cigarette from its box, keeping it in his mouth as the sky darkens overhead to prepare for a Gotham sunset, all faint purple hues overwhelmed with grey skies. Only when he feels the faint gnawing of hunger does he finally light it, the smoke settling his anxiety and nerves. He leans back tiredly, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. The breeze is chilly and seeps through his clothes, but he doesn't feel like going back inside.

“That’s bad for you.”

“The fuck?” Jason’s eyes snap open as he taps the ash away from the tip. _Robin_ is standing over him, arms crossed with a scowl etched across his face.

“Those are _bad_ for you,” he repeats.

“You a stalker, kiddo? Got a camera somewhere I don’t know about?”

“Maybe I do.” Robin scowls at him, but the look really isn't intimidating on him. "I thought I might have spotted some edgy teenager trying to smoke, and I guess I was right. Didn't think it'd be you from last night, though."

“Tough.” Jason takes a longer drag to spite the kid, but he's sort of impressed the kid can recognize him when both times they've met it was dark out. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“I’m patrolling for bad guys.”

“Bad guys, my ass.” Jason scoffs. “You’ve got tougher problems than me smoking my lungs out.”

“If you get emphysema you might one day have to get a bronchodilator.”

“A what now?” Jason sees the kid open his mouth to explain and he groans, flapping his arm vaguely at Robin in the hope of keeping him silent. “Don’t bother,” Jason grumbles, breathing out the smoke. “It was rhetorical.”

Suddenly, the cigarette is yanked from his lips; Robin stamps on it with his boot, crushing it completely. Jason scrambles up, livid and ready to duke it out with the Boy Wonder. “You _ass_ ,” he snaps, but Robin is completely unfazed.

“Quit smoking,” he demands.

“I _paid_ for that shit.”

“Well spend your money on something that’s not going to kill you, then!”

“That’s easy for you to say! Cigarettes are fucking cheaper than food, okay!”

“What?” The kid blinks in confusion. Jason groans, frustrated. Someone or something was going to beat the naiveté out of him one day, if Jason didn’t first.

“You think I got money for food?” snorts Jason. “After a certain _someone_ smashed up my cart?” He glowers pointedly. Nicotine was a poor substitute for feeling full, but it was at least _something_.

“That was Poison Ivy, not me.”

“I don’t care _who_ did it. The point is that I’m out of a job with no money.” Jason scoffs, leaning back against the wall with his arms looped behinds his head.

Robin is quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry.” Jason grunts noncommittally at the weak apology. “About the cart. Not about putting out your cigarette though.”

“Brat.” Jason rolls his eyes.

“You can’t be that much older than me,” protests Robin.

“And you’re not anymore grown up than me just ‘cause you’re the big bad Bat’s sidekick,” snorts Jason. A flare of envy ignites in his stomach. What did this kid have that he didn't to become the Boy Wonder? What did the Dark Knight see in this scrawny kid? Jason's bigger and older and can probably throw Robin like a sack of potatoes with little effort. “Where is he, anyway?”

Robin suddenly deflates. “He…he’s on a case,” he says. “He wouldn’t let me come along. He said this one was too dangerous.”

“Oh? So he does have a brain,” snorts Jason. “He shouldn’t be getting kid soldiers killed in crazy metahuman wars. Oh, _wait a second_.” Jason scrambles up eagerly, curiosity piqued as he looks at Robin properly for the first time. “So are you a meta, then? What sorta crazy superpowers do you have? I mean, you gotta be special if the Bat thinks you’re up to scratch to fight with him and not get yourself killed. Is _he_ a meta?”

Robin had startled a little when Jason had hammered him with questions, but he goes a little rigid. “I can’t answer that,” he says primly, lips pursing together.

“There’s no one to tell, anyway.” Lie. Information was worth its weight in gold, Jason knew, and he knew more than a handful of people who’d pay handsomely for a tidbit of knowledge about Batman. Apparently Robin at least has _some_ shred of common sense because he rolls his eyes at Jason.

“Tell you what,” Robin offers, rocking back onto his heels before straightening up. “Can I make you a deal?”

“Depends.” Jason eyes him warily, prepared to bargain like his life depended on it.

“I will replace your hot dog cart,” says Robin, and Jason stifles a bout of laughter at the way the kid holds his head proudly.

“Right, does Batman pay you a living salary or something? I bet he has good benefits,” mocks Jason, but Robin glares at him huffily until his mirth finally recedes. “Sorry, carry on,” says Jason, though his amusement still quirks the edges of his mouth up.

“I will not only replace your hot dog cart, but it will be _way_ better and cooler than whatever you had,” says Robin slowly, and the white lenses of his mask dare Jason to laugh again. He doesn’t. “In return, you have to stop smoking.”

Jason considers that. “That’s a pretty good deal, Robin, but forgive me if I don’t find your offer a bit…presumptuous. I have no guarantee that you’ll hold to that.”

Robin just shrugs, the edges of his cloak flapping in the wind. “Nothing lost, nothing gained for you, right? Was your cart a rental, or something? We’ll cover the costs of whatever was damaged.”

“We?”

“Yeah, me and Batman. We have friends in high places, you know.”

“I’m sure,” says Jason drily. “Fine, what the hell, I don’t have much else left to lose at this point.” He offers his palm for a handshake; Robin accepts it, and damn, does the kid have a surprisingly iron grip.

“I never got your name,” says Robin, and Jason remembers that right, they never actually had proper introductions. “Which I kind of need if I’m going to uphold my end of the bargain.”

“It’s Jason. Jason Todd.”

“Well then, Jason.” Robin considers him for a moment, releasing Jason’s hand but still keeping his own extended. “I’m going to need the rest of the pack where that cigarette came from.”


	3. Upheld

Jason doesn’t _really_ expect the kid to live up to his promise. There’s a part of him that still thinks that the scrawny and somewhat pasty boy isn't actually _the_ Robin of every kid’s dream and aspiration. Robin had come and gone a long time ago, even if the gossip papers sometimes claimed that Batman had picked up someone new along the way. Still, that was difficult to prove when you had copycats taking to the streets wearing vendor-sold Batman paraphernalia and tacky plastic masks. Still, the way Robin had swung off from the apartment block had been _mesmerizing_. 

When Robin had soared towards Gotham’s gleaming skyscrapers on a grapple line, it was at that point Jason _knew_ that the kid was the real deal and not just some aspiring wet-behind-the-ears wannabe. His cape had flared black-yellow in the gust of wind, and for a moment Jason was green with envy. What did Batman see in the kid that had told him that yes, this _was_ Robin? Jason didn’t know. Hell, maybe the kid was immortal and doomed to be forever unable to buy alcohol, which would certainly explain why Robin hadn’t aged at all, and he’d been at Batman’s side since _forever_.

Robin was a funny name for a possible immortal though, and even funnier when you considered that he didn't have flying powers. Jason makes a mental note to harass the kid over that if they ever cross paths again. However, that thought is quickly forgotten when Jason gets lost over the next few days while trying to get his life together.

He scrapes together enough for groceries and his overdue rent, but then the utility bill hits him in the face. He ignores his inevitable fate and goes dumpster diving, taking to the streets at nighttime and being careful to avoid the cops. He hits Chinatown first, making sure he's not accidentally intruding on the Triad's turf as he ransacks the bins in the back alleys. He doesn't get much that's usable, so he makes his way towards the tourist strip where the local cafes are closing up and tossing out whatever food hadn't managed to sell. He cobbles together enough to tide him over for the next few days, then scrubs himself down thoroughly in the shower before passing out for some fitful sleep before heading out yet again to see what sort of jobs Gotham has to offer. Nothing for a street rat that dumpster dives in the Narrows, and the day passes uneventfully.

Hell, maybe the vigilante life _does_ pay better than the average job. Maybe Jason needs to go invest in a Batman mask and go terrorize the general populace. A small smile tugs at his mouth even as he trudges back home after yet another fruitless day of job hunting. The next day, he gets a short gig unloading trucks for some hard cash paid under the table, but it's a one off thing and he needs something that'll stick for longer than a few days at best.

One day he gets a call from Leslie to help out with the street kids at the shelter – she wants him to come in and talk to them, see if he can verbally beat an inch of sense into their skulls, and reluctantly Jason goes, even though he knows most of the chuckleheads there are only going to learn the hard and bitter way. Leslie has been good to him – paying him for errands to run that she has no time to do, and he owes her enough to at least try.

He shows up at the shelter with his hands shoved into his pockets. Leslie always saves him a hot meal where she can, and though he doesn’t like accepting her charity, he also never knows when he next gets to eat. The place is run by the Martha Wayne Foundation, and Jason sighs and trudges up the steps when the door bursts open and –

“Jason, my man!” A jovial voice booms from behind him, a large hand affably clapping the oxygen from his lungs. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“What the –” begins Jason, voice ragged from the shock, and Dr. Thompkins’ levelheaded voice breaks through his cough.

“Let me handle the introductions before he gets too carried away. Jason, this is Bruce Wayne. Mr. Wayne, this is Jason Todd.”

“Well Jase,” says the multibillionaire breezily like he’s known Jason for his entire life, “Leslie here’s been telling me all about the things you do here – and we both appreciate you coming out of your way to talk to these kids.”

“Er, right,” says Jason, chancing a glance at Leslie who’s now standing off to the side, arms folded and expression tolerant like she’s seen this happen a thousand times before. “I only drop by every once in a blue moon –”

“Which is far more than what most people can boast, my boy!” Bruce Wayne is a force of geniality to be reckoned with as he crushes Jason’s hand in an ecstatic handshake. “It’s because of people like you that the Martha Foundation can continue all the great work it does.”

Jason just blinks at that, too winded to catch up to the whirlwind coming out from Bruce's mouth. The man winks at him, like there’s a secret that he’s not getting.

“Well, uh, sir,” starts Jason, but once again his words are bulldozed.

“As a matter of fact, Jase, I’ve heard you’ve found yourself in a bit of trouble.”

“It’s Jason –”

“And you know what they say, community should always help each other out! It takes a house to build a city!”

“I don’t think that’s the actual proverb –” says Jason helplessly, and Bruce Wayne just laughs merrily like he’s told a particularly amusing joke.

“Nevermind that, Jase! Here.” He presses something into Jason’s hand, closing Jason’s fingers around it firmly before winking at Jason once again. “You’ll find it parked on the side. Now, Leslie, I really must be on my way. I’ve to pick up Samantha for the gala tonight! Or was it Sophia? Blast, I really can’t remember. Ah, well, I’ll just have my butler pick up both of them. Enjoy!” He leaves in a rush of wind, leaving an unimpressed Leslie and an utterly baffled Jason Todd.

“Um.” Jason opens his palm to find a ring of automobile keys resting inside.

“Well, then.” Leslie stretches, arms raising skyward. She works out a crick in her neck, rotating the stiff joints. “Get on in, boy, it’s windy out here. The kids are waiting; you can check out what it is later.” Jason hesitates, but she’s already ushering him inside, a wry smile on her face as she shuts the door firmly to block the autumn chill. Jason looks down at the kids silently staring at him, a sea of both old and new faces watching him as he takes a breath to introduce himself.

The kids are as weary and tired as he was at their age, street urchins exhausted from being written off as another statistic as they’re shuffled from one so-called home to another. A few are slightly older than him; these ones are surlier and hardened. Jason knows he’ll never get through to them, and if they’re lucky they’ll only end up in juvie for a number of years.

Still, Leslie asked, and he’ll try his best to deliver. So he talks to them; not in the gentle way that the compassionate counselors would, nor the way social workers would – he talks to them as one of them, a street rat off Crime Alley. He doesn’t know if he gets through. Most of them stare at him wretchedly with soulless eyes. One of the aggressive ones try to get a rise out of him, but he’s too old to be taunted by people who weren’t so different from his ten year old self. But he tries his best, and for Leslie, he knows it means the world to her that he does. Jason reckons some of them will be snapped up by the gangs to run errands, maybe get recruited – turf wars were always rising and spilling over like molten lava. But even if the Martha Foundation helped some of them, the infrastructure within the city simply wasn’t _there_ to prevent these kids from getting eaten alive by Gotham.

But he tries. And he hates that he himself, some school dropout from the Narrows that’s currently out of a job because life was one huge middle finger, is their best viable representation of success. He ambles out the door when the meeting is over feeling like he hadn’t made much of a difference in these kids’ lives, but he supposes that at least trying was something.

He hurries out to where Mr. Wayne said whatever had been ‘parked on the side.’ A flare of hope passes through him. He idly contemplates the idea of owning a Lamborghini because that would be _awesome_ , then discards the idea as quickly as it comes. Rounding the corner, Jason stops in his tracks, gawking at the sight.

It’s a _truck_. It’s not a tiny hot dog cart, it’s an honest to god food truck. The ratty umbrella and the battered metal stoves are now a thing of the past. Jason has to pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming. Painted red and yellow, the truck is vibrant against the dreary bricks of the adjacent wall, furnished with a massive replica of a hot dog resting proudly across the roof of the vehicle.

“Like it?” asks Leslie, wandering out as she pats Jason on the shoulder.

“Understatement of the century,” manages Jason, overwhelmed. “I... I think I need to sit down.”

“Well, there’s a cushy driver’s seat you can get comfortable in,” notes Leslie drily. Jason stumbles towards the truck, dumbstruck, but he's stopped by Leslie's hand. “Hold up. A little bird told me to tell you to hand over any cigarettes on your person to me before I let you sign the paperwork.”

~*~*~*~

The hot dog truck is _beautiful_. Jason is enthralled with it a little more than he should be. He spends his days selling chili dogs and pretzels and soda along the parks, and one night he stays a touch later in the evening because there’s a big game going on at the stadium when –

“How’s the truck treating ‘ya?”

Jason looks up and blinks at the odd sight of the Batman’s sidekick casually perched atop the massive fake hot dog, kicking his dangling feet happily like a child. Jason has to remind himself they’re _both_ technically still kids.

“How long were you up there?” he asks instead dryly, hand pausing on the door handle. The game is midway through its second quarter so Jason’s prepping for the influx of customers at halftime.

“Long enough. You’ve been working hard.”

“So what brings you here as Robin and not as whoever you normally are?” asks Jason. “You should be in the stands buying a dog from me as a spectator, not a superhero sidekick.”

Robin grins slyly. “Who’s to say I didn’t?” he retorts, catching Jason off guard.

“Fair point. Wait, does that mean you changed in one of the porta-potties?”

“No comment. On another note, I do have something important to address with you,” says Robin primly, hopping off the fake hot dog and landing on the ground nimbly, the breeze catching the folds of his cloak.

“Oh? I haven’t smoked since I gave you my pack, you know.” It’d been hard dealing with the cravings, and while Jason had been sorely tempted to light a cancer stick in the weeks that had followed, he’d stopped himself, sometimes carrying one unlit in his mouth as a sort of compromise.

“Not about that. I meant your age.”

_Shit_. “Hm? I haven’t taken a sip of whiskey officer, I swear that,” says Jason jokingly.

“You’re not eighteen yet; you shouldn’t be able to work full time like that. You should be in school.”

“I need to feed myself, Boy Whiner,” huffs Jason, now on the defensive. “I’d _like_ to go back, but money comes first.”

Robin frowns. “Still.”

“Even if you report me, I’m just going to find another job instead so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make my life any more complicated than it needs to be.” Jason crosses his arms emphatically.

“Do you have anyone to rely on?”

“Mommy's dead and daddy’s in jail,” says Jason bluntly. “The social workers lost me in the system ages ago and I ain’t going back.”

“It’s _am not,_ not ain’t. That’s why you need to go back to school.”

“Spare me. Education _ain’t_ everything,” Jason snaps, purposefully emphasizing the word to piss Robin off. It does work; Robin’s eyebrows furrow in irritation.

“Public school –”

“Sure, that might be free, but rent’s high. I don’t want to take handouts from charity when there are people out there who need it more than me. I can get by.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest that,” mutters Robin petulantly. He scowls and kicks a stray pebble, watching it sadly bounce off the curb and into the roadside. “I just think you could do so much better than a hot dog stand.”

“It’s not a forever deal,” concedes Jason. “But in the meantime, wanna buy a second dog?” He grins and taps the menu written on the side of the truck. “Assuming you _did_ buy one from me earlier.”

“Hrmm.” Robin dubiously eyes the menu. “I’m on patrol, technically.”

“I’m guessing your boss doesn’t like eating on the job?”

“I’ve never asked,” admits Robin. “But I actually don’t have much money on me right now.”

“On the house,” offers Jason. “You guys did get me this fancy ass truck.” He still can't believe that Bruce Wayne is a benefactor to Gotham's most famous vigilante, but it's the only explanation for why the Batman hasn't been strung up alive by the police yet. Money talks, after all, and it makes sense to Jason that the Batman had the financial backing of Gotham's elite.

“Well, if you insist…” Robin offers him a cheeky grin and surveys the menu. “What do you recommend? I’ll be honest, I didn’t actually buy a hot dog from you earlier; I’ve been in my uniform the whole time.”

“Well if you haven’t heard, I make the best damn chili dog in Gotham,” declares Jason proudly. “You’re missing out if you haven’t bought one yet, Robin.”

“That’s a big boast to live up to.” Robin eyes him dubiously.

“You’ve got nothing to lose.”

Robin concedes to that. “Good point. All right, one chili dog, please.”

“That’s it? No soda, nothing?”

“I don’t want to be jumping off skyscrapers later on a full stomach later.” Robin grins ruefully. “It’s one big cramp waiting to happen, you know?”

“Not exactly, but all right. One chili dog coming right u –” Before Jason can finish, Robin’s eyes go round like saucers. In a flash, he vaults over the till. Before Jason can even utter a word of protest, Robin is frantically tugging him down so that they’re huddled under the counter and out of sight. Robin dares a peek over the side and ducks down once more.

“What the he-” Jason starts, but Robin shushes him frantically, tapping his ear where there was an earpiece Jason hadn’t noticed before.

“B, target’s moving towards your ten o’clock.” Jason detects a minute sound of radio crackle as Robin listens intently for a few seconds before nodding. Suddenly Robin is all business, no trace of the laughing child Jason could have mistaken for a little kid playing dress up in spandex tights. Robin’s mouth is taut with determination and seriousness, and Jason realizes that the kid is _leagues_ more mature than he lets on.

“I think I’ll have to put the chili dog on hold, Jason,” says Robin grimly. A little bit of Jason rejoices internally that now he can boast that _the_ Boy Wonder knows him by name and face.

“Is everything okay? Is there danger?” asks Jason, senses on alert. He glances towards the crowd of spectators, worrying that maybe there’s some sort of bomb threat or worse. One never knew in Gotham.

“No, everything’s fine,” reassures Robin. “We’re just trailing someone. If there was any sort of threat, we’d be evacuating everyone inside the stadium right now and be making an announcement.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Robin smiles wryly. “Even if there were, I shouldn’t be involving you as a civilian. I appreciate the offer, though.” He clambers over the counter with distinctly less finesse than he did when vaulting over it. When his feet touch the ground, he turns and offers Jason a teasing salute. “You know, Gotham University is about to start the midterm period.”

“What about it?”

“Well when you’re up at three in the morning cramming frantically for an exam in five hours, every so often you start craving a midnight snack to get you through the night.” Robin looks at him pointedly. “I’m sure a food truck situated by the dorms or the library when the university cafeteria’s closed would be a _very_ welcome change.”

Jason offers him a teasing salute of his own. “Message received, Boy Wonder,” he calls. Robin grins quick and cheery before he disappears around the truck. Jason waits a half pace before following, but by the time he rounds the corner Robin is already gone, not even the flutter of his cape to beckon goodbye.


	4. Sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing and fantastic khachalala drew [this](https://khachalala.tumblr.com/post/175987780372/another-fan-art-for-one-more-amazingly-cute-story) fantastic piece of fanart from the last chapter and you should go check it out!!!

Jason gnaws the tip of his pen as he counts the receipts. He’s finally ending the month on a positive balance, and if this keeps up he’s considering at least taking a few classes here and there at the local community college even if he can’t formally return to school.

His eventual goal is to obtain his GED, but that’s a dream that he has a few years ahead to plan for one step at a time. People aren’t buying hot dogs as much anymore though. The seasons are growing colder as fewer people frequent the parks save for those with dogs (the cute and furry kind) and the formidably determined joggers. Jason stocks up on ginger snaps and hot chocolate, contemplating Robin’s advice about selling near the university campus.

There’s an awkward tickle in his throat which he prays isn’t an incoming cold, and he makes some ginger tea in an effort to ward it off. If he gets sick, there’s no money to see a doctor. He’s got some lozenges and expired pills in the cupboard that might be still good if he’s lucky, but he’d rather avoid that scenario altogether if possible. He’s saving up for a better jacket, and taking time off work to be sick is going to cut into his funds. Jason might love his well-worn hoodie, but the adolescent rage of growth spurts is _still_ ravaging his body and at this point he’s pretty sure it’s sheer willpower holding his shrinking clothes together.

Robin’s idea is not a bad one, he decides, reworking a new schedule. The few perks of running a hot dog truck – he’s his own boss, and hey, not many his age can boast that. So he drives himself over to Gotham U’s campus in the early evenings just after people are leaving university classes, and, _oh_.

_College girls_. Jason can’t help but throw a flirtatious wink at a group of them and they giggle and roll their eyes at him. He’s got a promotional discount on for students, and they wander over, wrapped in scarves and coats.

“So, what can I get for you, ladies?” He smiles disarmingly. “You’re the first customers I’ve had this fine evening.”

“I could definitely go for a gingersnap,” says the one leading the pack. Her eyes are bright blue and earnest. The others chime in their orders.

“All right, ladies. Could you do a poor ol’ underpaid teenager a favor and tell all your friends about me? I’ll be here all night to keep someone company during their study break and fill their stomachs.” Jason grins. “I’ll take another ten percent off your orders if you guys spread the word.”

They agree excitedly to the offer. Jason grins brightly. As he makes the first girl’s change, he asks, “so, what majors are you all in? I bet you’re all in some crazy hard degree.”

“Poly sci,” chimes the first. “With a minor in lit.”

“Accounting,” says the blonde, the only one who ordered a chili dog. Jason decides he likes her the most based on that.

“Forensic psychology,” says the last, and Jason hones in on the amused redhead who’s watching him from the back of the group. She’s dressed well, and she’s watching Jason with a certain air like she can read him.

“That sounds pretty bad ass. Well, all of your degrees do, ladies.” The redhead had ordered a latte; he twirls his sharpie expertly, uncapping it one-handed. “So what’s your name?”

“Barbara Gordon.” The wind gusts and tugs her hair out of its perch behind her ear; she tucks it back in neatly.

That gives him pause. “Gordon? Like the police commissioner?” He winces a little internally. Oh, he’d met the guy, and he’d been given an earful about lifting tires and petty crime before getting released. Gotham cells were too full for brats like him, and he was lucky that Gordon had bigger fish to fry back then. Something about one of the loonies at the asylum getting loose, if he remembers correctly.

“Yeah.” She watches him shrewdly. “You know him.” It isn’t a question.

“I didn’t know he had a gorgeous daughter looking to follow in his footsteps,” he evades smoothly, scrawling her name on the coffee cup in bold letters.

She laughs, confident and beautiful. “You are _way_ too young for me, kid.”

“It’s Jason. And hey, a girl like you is always worth a try.” He gives her back the change; she drops it back into the tip jar. Nice.

“Well Jason, I do appreciate it when a street vendor isn’t trying to scam me out of my change.” She smiles at him. “But if you want a real tip, don’t lay on the flirting so thick; it’s not earning you any favors.”

“Damn.” That stings a little, but he’s open to criticism, and he can appreciate it from a girl who’s blunt enough to say it outright. He hands Barbara’s latte to her and she accepts it graciously. “But would it be enough to make you a returning customer?”

“Well, you did spell my name right, and you didn’t add any creeper hearts.” Barbara looks at him appraisingly before sipping of her drink. She sighs in satisfaction. “That, and with the surprisingly good coffee, I’d say that’s a solid yes.”

Score.

“Will you be around often?” asks the girl in accounting. “Do you have a loyalty card?”

That’s actually a good idea, especially since it looks like he’ll be frequenting the campus in the foreseeable future. “Not yet, ladies, but when I do, show me the receipts for today and I’ll mark them for you guys.”

“Sweet.” They wave to him and continue on their way to the parking lot and the dorms, and Jason settles back, rotating his neck to get rid of the crick in it.

This had been such a good idea. 

“I can’t believe you were trying to hit on them.”

Jason yelps as Robin flips down from the truck roof with acrobatic poise. Showoff.

“Can you blame me? Those chicks were _smokin’_.”

“You certainly _tipped_ them off that you think so.”

Jason groans at the terrible pun, blushing. “Go away. How long were you listening?”

“ _Hey, a girl like you is always worth a try_ ,” Robin mocks. Jason scowls in embarrassment, ears reddening. “Also, as another _tip_ , she’s taken.”

“What, you know her?”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” Robin’s voice is smug. “But at any rate, she was wearing perfume.”

“So what?”

“It was _La Croix_. Really expensive brand, and her clothes are suitable for a date. She’s going for a good time later.”

“Maybe she’s a girl with expensive tastes?”

“The scent was Summer Skye. It was limited edition two years ago, went for about forty dollars an ounce. You don’t wear that when you're only studying for a midterm.”

“How the – why do you know so much about girly perfume?”

“You never know what sort of info can come in handy in my line of work,” says Robin seriously. “Also, I mean, what’s your impression of her?”

“Hm.” Jason tries to recall her, the way she talked and moved. “Well spoken, and probably does sports. She seems to be the athletic type.”

“Go on.”

“Smart as all hell, I’m guessing, probably stubborn when push comes to shove and doesn’t take shit for an answer.”

“There, I just taught you the basics of profiling someone.” Jason can hear the satisfaction in Robin’s voice. “And does someone matching your description casually wear that sort of perfume in everyday life?”

“I think that while she’s probably stringent in her work ethic, she does leave room for occasional indulgences,” admits Jason cautiously. “But probably not indulgences that are forty dollars per ounce.”

“Good call.”

“But if her dad’s the commissioner, it’s possible he bought it for her as a graduation or birthday gift or something? Especially if he’s the doting type. Doesn’t have to be a boyfriend.”

“Maybe.” Robin nods in approval. “But I’ll give you a tip; the commissioner doesn’t know the first thing about perfume.”

“Might have just went for the most expensive one he saw.”

“All good things to consider.” Robin opens his mouth to say more, but his stomach gurgles loudly and interrupts him. Jason laughs as Robin has the grace to look embarrassed.

“So, how about that chili dog I promised you?” Jason slathers on a generous amount of pickles and ketchup and mustard atop a sausage resting on a bed of buns and offers it to him. It’s piping hot and fresh off the grill roller and Jason scrutinizes Robin’s face carefully as the boy wonder bites into it.

“Mmmph.” Robin’s face turns blissful. “’Thish ish delic’ous.” He chews quickly and swallows it down. Jason holds down a burst of pride that _Robin_ called his food _delicious_. He wonders if he should put up a sign for it. Maybe it’d bring more customers if word spreads that Gotham’s youngest urban myth endorses his food truck.

“Right? I told ya.” Jason beams at him, warmth bubbling in his stomach. Then he sneezes, barely covering his mouth in time.

“Bless you.” Robin looks at him with concern. “That was a loud one. You’re not getting sick, are you?”

Jason brushes away his concern. “Me, sick? Pft. I haven’t gotten sick in years. It’s just a small tickle in my throat. It should go away by tomorrow.”

“Still.” Robin’s eyes rove over his clothes, and Jason suddenly feels self conscious of his ratty jeans and his favorite sweatshirt. He offers Robin a cocky grin, shifting his weight so that he’s pressed closer to the heat of the grill roller.

“Hey, I get plenty of warmth from this baby here.” He pats the machine lightly. Robin frowns at him, obviously unimpressed.

“If you say so. Just be careful, okay?” Robin swallows down the rest of the chili dog, stretching slightly as he rolls his shoulders dexterously.

“Yeah, yeah. But I’ll have you know that my immune system is as strong as a horse,” boasts Jason. Robin rolls his eyes and salutes him cockily before fading into the shadows, just before a group of some fraternity brothers arrive for some midnight snacks. The time passes slowly, and before he knows it it’s already past one am when he finally starts cleanup.

As it turns out, Jason’s immune system fails him miserably. When he gets back home, his muscles are aching and his apartment feels even more freezing than normal against his heated skin, weariness tugging at his mind as he stumbles through the threshold of his apartment. He doesn’t bother turning on the light, grabbing a glass of water and a pack of expired cold medicine. He heads straight to bed, shivering as he fumbles for the thermometer in his bedroom dresser. He can’t find it in the dark, and he gives up and lets himself collapse into his beckoning bed. The sheets feel too cold against his skin. He shifts around, trying to get comfortable, but the ache in his muscles progressively worsens. A weak whine escapes his lips as his body is wracked with chills.

Catherine hadn’t been a great mom, but she had had her moments. Once upon a childhood long ago, on a night similar to this, he remembers her tucking him in, placing cold compresses on his forehead during the night to break his fever.

He misses her. Or maybe he misses being taken care of. Jason doesn’t know. He isn’t able to think properly. He can feel the flu settling in now, carving itself a home as he tosses and turns.

He doesn’t go to work the next day. He knows he’s going to regret it and that he’s going to have to throw out some of his inventory, but it’s all he can do to crawl out of bed to take another dose of cold medicine. Every time he moves, he gets a splitting headache. Just making toast is a Herculean task and eating is even harder, but he forces it down anyway.

He spends the day bedridden, and Jason thinks he feels a little better after the meds knock him out cold for a few hours of blissful release from his suffering. He manages to haul himself up for long enough to shovel clothes into his tiny washing machine and start a spin cycle before he plods back to bed, head feeling like it’s splitting open from the pounding migraine he’s having.

It’s at about eleven that Jason hears a tap at his window, and he grumbles and turns over. He’s too tired to yell at the dumb shits throwing rocks at people’s windows, but the tap becomes a knock, and he forces his eyes open to glare at the offending window.

He’s greeted with an alarming sight of a boyish silhouette framed against his curtains. The silhouette knocks louder again. Jason weighs his odds, but he figures most burglars lack the courtesy to knock and if it’s Peter Pan, well, he’ll take his chances. He stumbles through his messy bedroom, hesitating briefly before flinging the curtains open.

“What the shit?” Jason feels like he probably shouldn’t be surprised, but Robin waves at him from beyond the window, lifting up a bag of what looks like takeout. Jason fumbles with the latch, cracking it open just a bit to glare owlishly at Robin.

“You realize that fire escape is too rickety to take anyone’s weight, right?”

“I’m light.” Robin smiles at him. It’s still a little weird that Jason’s taller than him, but he’s slowly getting used to the idea.

“I can see that. Why are you being such a stalker?”

“I was worried about you. Didn’t see your truck out today in your usual spots.” Robin peers behind him. “Do you mind if I come in? It’s kinda cold, and these tights aren’t as insulated as one might think.”

Jason nods wordlessly, opening the window wider so that Robin can slip through. Suddenly, he feels self conscious about the state of his messy apartment. Normally it’s well kept, but Jason’s been so stretched thin that the place is in a much worse state than he normally lets it get to. He remembers the dirty dishes stacked in the sink and subtly kicks a couple things into the corner of his room and lets Robin shuffle in.

Jason blushes, sidling towards the bedside drawer where some magazines are strewn over its surface as Robin examines his room, looking around at the plain walls and unassuming décor. The top magazine is opened to a glossy spread of a man showcasing his huge six pack, water streaming in rivulets over glistening skin and Jason is _not_ ready to have a conversation about this with Robin. He covertly flips another magazine over it, but he’s not fast enough and a faint tinge of red colors Robin’s cheeks.

“This is a pretty nice place. You live by yourself?” Robin’s voice is studiously bland.

“Yeah. Rent lady checks up on me every once in awhile for her dough.” Jason picks a pair of jeans off the floor and throws it onto a chair. He coughs into his elbow, a rough and deep chested sound.

“You sound super nasal. You all right?”

“’M fine. Nose congested. It’ll go away in a bit.”

“Well, I brought you some food. Can you keep anything down?” Robin dangles the bag of takeout in front of him.

“Kinda.” Jason swallows, eyes darting away from Robin. “You...you didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I don’t have to do a lot of things,” shrugs Robin. “But I choose to do them anyway. Where’s your microwave?”

“Over there.” Jason grabs a Kleenex and blows his nose loudly into it as he wanders into the open kitchen, Robin a few steps behind him. Jason flips the switch. The lights flicker on and cast the apartment into a soft glow. Setting the bag onto the counter, Robin tears a hole into it instead of undoing the knot, popping the lid off the large plastic container inside.

“Got a bowl? It’s chicken noodle soup. Figured with the way you were sneezing the other day, you’d be needing it.” Robin accepts the bowl handed to him, pouring the soup carefully into it. Out sloshes a gorgeous broth, large star shaped pasta filling the bowl.

“Did you make this?” Jason stares at it. He can’t imagine a restaurant making something like this with such beautiful and fancy pasta.

“Well, not me,” admits Robin sheepishly. “I asked someone I know who’s a great cook.” He pops the bowl into the microwave, turning the dial to two minutes.

“You went to all that trouble?” Jason swallows thickly. He’s not used to being taken care of like this. It’s strange, and Jason is almost afraid to believe it.

“Why not? You needed help, and it’s my job to help,” says Robin mildly. He wanders around the counter, plopping himself on the couch near the old coffee table, glancing at the magazine opened there with some mild interest. Jason has a split moment to pray that it’s not some random porn magazine he accidentally left out before Robin is speaking again.

“Were you going to buy this jacket?”

“What?” Jason blinks and joins Robin on the couch, plopping into the pillows and squinting at what he’s pointing at. “Ah yeah, was thinking about it.” It’s a gorgeous piece of clothing, brown leather folds that snugly hug the model’s figure on the glossy paper. Jason had seen it in a shop window as he had driven by, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

“I see.” Robin makes a thoughtful sound. His voice is so offhanded and placid that red flags start waving in Jason’s head.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Robin asks innocently, and Jason feels a spark of irritation flare at the kid.

“Look.” Jason scowls, but he’s beset by a hard round of coughing. When it settles, he tries again. “I...I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I’m not your charity case.”

Robin’s confusion is palpable even though the blank domino mask gives very little away. “I never said you were, Jason.”

“Yeah?” Jason tries to mask his irritation, but the aggression bleeds into his voice anyway. “You might not say it, but you can’t deny you weren’t thinking it. Just ‘cause I’m poor doesn’t mean I need handouts, got it? Don’t need you policing me and stalking me all the time like some weirdo. And I _definitely_ don’t need you buying that jacket, okay!” His voice rises. His throat hurts at the sudden abuse, vocal cords straining.

Robin looks shocked for a moment, startled at Jason’s outburst. Silence settles in the space between them. The microwave dings, signaling that the soup is done.

“You _idiot_.” Robin’s voice is deceptively calm, but Jason can tell by his stiffened shoulders that he’s definitely _pissed_ at Jason. “I don’t put on these tights for kicks or because I think Gotham is a charity case. I do it because _it’s the right thing to do_.”

Jason doesn’t say anything. Robin stands up, brushing by him towards the microwave and opening it with a frustrated jab of his finger. He grabs the bowl, swinging by the sink to grab a spoon off the rack and placing it in front of Jason with an irate clank. “And do you know why I swung by your place to bring you food?”

Jason stares at his feet, unwilling to say anything. Robin huffs and crosses his arms, glaring at him. “It’s because we’re _friends_ , you stupid doughnut. Unless I was wrong?”

Gingerly, Jason picks the bowl up, bringing it close to his face. The steam curls into his face, prickling his skin against the cool night air as he takes a breath. This close, he can actually smell the food despite his congested nose, and for the first time all day, his stomach announces that it’s famished.

“No,” says Jason softly, eyes burning a little. “You weren’t wrong.” He stirs the soup around, brings a spoon to his mouth and blows on it gently before tasting it. It burns his throat in all the right ways, the broth fresh and clearly just made not too long ago and the pasta go down easily. Before he knows it, he’s taking another spoonful, and another, and another. It’s the best damn thing he’s had in forever, and he hadn’t realized just how much he missed home cooked food that was savory and filled your stomach in the best kind of way.

Robin takes a seat next to him, waiting patiently as Jason eats it quickly, but trying to pace himself so that it doesn’t scald his tongue. The star shaped pasta isn’t one Jason has seen in the supermarkets, and he makes a mental note to try and look for it later.

When he finally puts the bowl down at last, he swallows again, the taste still residing in his mouth.

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

“You’re welcome.”

“And I’m sorry for being an ass,” he adds quickly, scowling down at his toes. “But seriously, just use the front door instead of the fire escape.”

Robin huffs a soft laugh, smile crinkling the very edge of his domino. “Don’t worry about it.” He takes Jason’s empty bowl and sets it aside on the counter. “I gotta go before Batman comes looking for me, but I hope you get better soon. Make sure you put the rest in the fridge, okay?”

“Hold up.” Jason frowns at him. “We’re friends, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“But I don’t know anything about you. And you know everything about me. That’s not really fair, you know.”

“Hm.” Robin cocks his head at him. “I guess you have a point.”

“Tell me something no one else knows,” presses Jason, crossing his arms. “That’s for being a stalker and knowing my home address ‘n everything.”

Robin’s face scrunches up as he racks his head, obviously trying to come up with something that’s not too incriminating. He gives up, heaving a dramatic sigh as he does so.

“I’m only saying this once, so listen closely.” Jason leans in obediently as Robin puts his mouth close to his ear, breath fanning across the outer lobe. Jason holds his breath in anticipation.

“ _I’ve had to change in a porta-potty before_.”

A snort explodes from Jason’s nose before it devolves into loud, unabashed laughter that hurts his throat even more.

“It was an emergency!” Robin’s ears turn red. “It was near a construction site and Killer Croc was on the loose and there was nowhere else to change and _ohmygodstoplaughing_!”

Jason’s ribs hurt from cackling so hard at Robin’s expense and when he finally slows down to exhausted huffs and gasps, his eyes are wet from laughter.

“You really are a true Boy Wonder,” he manages between puffs of air. Robin tries to glare, but his mouth is quirked upwards in suppressed laughter.

“Yeah. It’s what I do, right? Taking one for the team and changing in nasty porta-potties.” Robin places a hand over his heart dramatically. “The things I do for Gotham.”

“My hero.” Jason can’t hold back another snort. Robin shakes his head and opens the window ledge, cold air rushing in and making both of them shiver.

“I gotta go, but Jason, I _promise_ you you’re not a charity case for me.” Robin gazes at him earnestly. “And look, friends give each other presents for Christmas, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jason concedes, warmth fluttering in his stomach. He usually gets a few chocolates for the holidays from his landlady, but that’s usually about it. The thought of being able to expect something beyond that – it sends butterflies wriggling in his stomach.

Robin salutes him and swings out into the fire escape, hand falling to his belt as he rummages around. “So, I’m expecting something from you, got it? And expect something nice from me too.” He shoots his grappling hook up into the air. The rope soars higher and higher, until its end is nowhere in sight. Robin tugs experimentally on rope. Satisfied when it goes tense, he looks back at Jason.

“I’ll see you when you’re better, yeah? Don’t push yourself. And close the window before you make your cold worse.”

“Yeah, yeah. So long, Robin.” Jason waves at him as he makes his exit. Robin perches precariously on the ledge, cape fluttering behind him as he straightens up. Then a hop, a fall, and Robin plummets out of sight. Jason hears joyous _whoop_ as Robin throws caution to the winds. Jason leans out as far as he can, a flash of yellow and no loud crash signaling that Robin is well on his way to wherever his destination is. Smiling softly, Jason closes the window and turns around to pack the rest of the broth back into the fridge.

“What the hell,” mutters Jason to himself, lips helplessly pulled up in a wry smile. “He really is a boy wonder."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the lovely [Myoneloveismusic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myoneloveismusic/pseuds/Myoneloveismusic) and I did a collab for Jaytimweek and we wrote an case fic set in the werewolf world. We were really excited to work on this together and put it out there for people to enjoy and you should definitely give it a shot! You can read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16664539) and give it some love!

**Author's Note:**

> i got stuck with writer's block so i decided to post the first bit and see how it goes from there. If people want more, send a little love! Thanks for reading <3


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